Kelana
Kelana's Background: Kelana's people, the Sestani, believe that the Divine is a being beyond mortal comprehension who exists in all things. As such, mortals grasp at the Divine in whatever way it touches their lives. Warriors worship it in battle, farmers in the growing of plants and the turning of the seasons, druids in the diversity of life. Thus the Sestani believe that all of the world's religions are simply worshiping different aspects of the same god. Even among the Sestani there are sects of worshipers as people naturally gravitate to the face of the Divine that they best connect to. Kelana is a priestess of Munshi, known as the Scribe. Munshi is the facet of the Divine that exists in civilization, in the growth and learning of men, their cities and their cultures. Priests of Munshi are often learned men and women, seeking knowledge about the various religions of the world in order to better understand the vast nature of the Divine, so though they attribute their devotion to the Scribe, that devotion is what drives them to seek out and understand all other faiths. Kelana's Compendiums: * Cleric * Sacred Lamb * Good Samaritan Kelana's Bonds: * As a bard, Alvos has no doubt traveled far and wide. I bet I can learn many things from him. * Raylan is a /demonic/ werewolf. I need to figure out what is happening to him and how to get back the Raylan that I knew. * When I said that I wanted to know more about Harry's tall tales, I didn't mean that I wanted to see him /become/ the monsters that he bragged about. I will need to keep an eye on him to make sure that he doesn't turn into a terrifying monster, too. * I just saved James' ass - my debt to him is paid. * Drago is a dangerous man and I worry about his influence on Raylan. * Heracles is a stupid brute who has no shame. If I am less tolerant of him than others, it is because, as a Sestani, he should know better. Kelana's Research: Records of the God * Raylan's Quest ** Sketches and notes of Raylan's preparation for his quest for the sword * St. Nock's Cathedral ** Drawing of winged man holding sword pointing it towards the altar, carved into the floor of the chapel behind the altar; contains 2 key holes, one on either side of the carving. ** Stained glass windows behind the altar; half orc with a club standing beside a smaller human, both with halos. Records of Alpha, the First Wolf * Domains: Animal, Hunting, Shapeshifting * Ashen Amulet - holds the ashes of Rikard; lets the werewolves talk to their god * 2 factions ** Purists led by Tsuri Noroi * The First Wolf ** Real name: "Baturo" ** He and his friend (Tsuri) were the first werewolves, granted to them by the great wolf (spirit wolf) Records of the Orcs * Groud, the warchief * The orcs take slaves from their raiding on local settlements * Grud, one of the orc shaman Records of Visions * Vision of the island back when the volcano beneath St. Nock's was live; a primitive tribe watches a rock fall from the sky and the someone is pulled into the rock. The village is destroyed and a single survivor stands alone with a strange mask. He points at something unseen, grabs his face and bends over, then something is pulled into the mask. Later, more villagers build a temple and bring a coffin inside. ** Sketches follow with notes of what is found in the under the rock in the hidden altar ** Sketches of door of faces. Kelana's Death: Colors. Everywhere, my entire existence was color. A maelstrom of hues beyond comprehension. Not just colors, either – that was just what I saw. All of my senses were assaulted at once. Sounds, a symphony of music more beautiful than any I could have imagined in my deepest dreams. Scents, from the baking of cookies to fresh rain to a field of flowers. Textual feelings – soft fur, smooth glass, rough parchment, the warmth of the summer sun, cool spring water. Even tastes, as if I had taken a bite of all of my favorite dishes at the same time. All of these things overwhelmed me, causing my mind to hurt as it tried to register every stimulus. It was impossible. This was beyond the comprehension of any mortal being. This, then, must be the true Divine. To be everything, everywhere. To exist beyond definition, beyond limits. To just exist. I felt myself being torn apart, and part of me hurt, part of me feared. The part that still clung to identity. Kelana – if that was my name, it was hard to remember – did not wish to be dead. She did not wish to lose everything that made her unique in the world. That made her Kelana. And yet a greater part yearned to join the colors and the music, craving to become one with the everything that made up the universe’s ultimate consciousness. And so, Kelana died. When the cold clasped suddenly around my wrists, I gasped. In an instant, my soul was pulled free of the Divine with which it sought to merge. Disoriented, I could only focus on the shadowy bands around wrists that should not have existed. And not just wrists, but hands, arms and a body. Not a physical body, but a metaphysical representation of who I am. I am Kelana. And I am not being allowed to die. Even as that understanding came to me, my world of colors turned to darkness. The Lord of Nightmares had snatched my soul up and he now held me imprisoned, locked in a trinket. I was confused, scared and hurting. But mostly I was cold. All around me, the cold and the dark pressed in, and I cowered in my prison, shivering. I do not know how long I remained there. For the soul, there is no time. But something changed, something stirred me from my stupor. Color. Warmth. It was a familiar sensation. I /knew/ that soul. Braving the cold and the dark, I pushed my consciousness beyond my prison towards the glimmer of light that I had felt. And there he was. Raylan. He was different. Horns sprouted through his hair and in his eyes, always so innocent and delightful, there was now a look of pain and fear and confusion. Horrified, wanting to cry out, to reach out, I could only watch. I couldn’t hear what was spoken, but I could feel the dread and the icy cold of it almost made me pull back into my prison. Then it was over. I was flying, and not in a good way. The shadow bands vanished from my wrists and my soul dropped from my prison into nothingness. The fall ended as my soul slammed back into my body as it was dropped onto the ground before a dark portal. It hurt. I don’t know if it is always that way, or if the pain was only because of my close exposure with the infinite Divine, but being shoved back into the finite of a physical body wasn’t pleasant. When I finally stirred, every part of me ached. My lungs ached to breath. My head ached to think. My arms… oof! No, arm. Singular. I rolled over, wincing. I hadn’t gotten used to only having one arm before my death. Despite the discomfort, I pushed myself up and turned my attention to the only thing I cared about at that moment. I found him kneeling a few feet away. The horns still grew from his head and his eyes, now solid orbs of bright blue, looked even more haunted. As I stared at Raylan, my own pain was forgotten and I wept. I wept for the loss of innocence. Then I wrapped my arm around him and kissed him on the cheek. He should not have come for me. He should not have done what he did, given up that which made him who he was. But he had, and I knew I would never be able to repay him for his sacrifice, but I would spend the rest of my life in an attempt to. What he suffered on my behalf, he would never suffer alone. Category:West Marches 2 Category:Player Characters Category:Jennifer Category:Alive